


Approach Speed

by MachaSWicket



Series: Waypoints [4]
Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: <i>Approach Speed</i> - the recommended speed on landing approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Approach Speed

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: They belong to Rob Thomas, Warner Bros, etc.
> 
> THANKS: To katelinnea and ghostcat300 for betaing this monster.
> 
>  
> 
> Huge thanks to [lilamadison11](http://lilamadison11.tumblr.com/) for the gorgeous art!

_So... I guess I might be going to Texas this weekend._

Veronica held her breath and hit send, then turned back to the oven to check on her dinner. She figured Mac was a good test run before she mentioned this rather sudden development to Wallace. Depending on just how busy Mac was at the moment, Veronica could expect a call back within 10 seconds, or 10 minutes. Even at her busiest and most distracted, Mac was basically attached to her iPhone.

On cue, Veronica's phone rang, and she actually laughed when she answered. "I think that's a new record."

"You're going to Texas to see Logan?" Mac demanded, sounding curious and maybe a little bit wary. "Explain."

"There are these cool things called _airplanes_ , and--"

"Ha, ha, ha. When did you guys decide this? And," Mac continued, warming to the topic, " _what_ did you decide exactly?"

Leaning back against the counter in her small kitchen, Veronica flushed a little with embarrassment, remembering the awkward conversation with Logan involving plane tickets and guest bedrooms, which was simply confirmation that he had no interest in rekindling one particularly satisfying aspect of their relationship. Which probably shouldn't have stung like it did. 

"We're friends, Mac," she protested, and if she could just convince her stupid _crush-like feelings_ of the truth of that statement, things would be so much easier. "We're just going to hang out. Catch up."

"Uh-uh." Mac was not buying it. "When's the last time you impulsively flew across the country to visit me just to hang out? Or Wallace?"

Dammit. But-- "I have seen my two _favorite_ people a whole bunch of times the last eight years, so I really don't think--"

"You're terrible at misdirection," Mac interrupted, laughing. 

“I am _excellent_ at misdirection,” Veronica answered, genuinely offended since that made up at least half of lawyering.

Mac snorted. "Whatever. Where are you _sleeping_ while you're visiting your old pal Logan?"

"Logan has a guest room," Veronica answered primly. Which was true. He’d only mentioned it like four or five times in one conversation. Just in case she _hadn’t_ figured out that he was not into her. Despite the flirting around the edges of their conversations.

"Fancy lawyering," Mac observed. "Are you going to be sleeping in the guest bedroom, or are you going to be sleeping with--"

"Mac!" Veronica pressed a hand to her forehead. The last thing she needed was to obsess even _more_ over the implications of Logan's guest bedroom. They were friends again, exchanging texts and phone calls regularly, and that was great. Really. She’d missed his particular sense of humor -- a little dark, a lot snarky. Overall, she was _so_ much happier with Logan back in her life. 

It was just this one tiny (yet annoyingly persistent) part of her that wished he wanted her for more than her conversational skills. 

"Do you think Logan would have been, all, 'hey, no need for a hotel, I have a guest bedroom' if he had any designs on my virtue?"

Mac snorted. "What virtue?"

"I am the _soul_ of patience," Veronica shot back. "And kindness."

"Diligence, _maybe_ ," Mac allowed. “And -- wait, you suggested a hotel?”

Veronica flushed. “I’m still not entirely sure how we ended up talking about me visiting him, but I would never just _assume_ that someone I haven’t seen in years is required to put me up for the weekend if--”

“If you’re flying halfway across the country to visit him,” Mac interrupted, clearly amused, “and he’s literally the _only person you know_ in the entire state of Texas. I mean, sure -- why _would_ you expect to spend most of your time with him?”

Veronica pressed her free hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. She’d already obsessed enough about the hotel/guest bedroom part of her unexpected conversation with Logan -- she really didn’t want to rehash it. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh, I do,” Mac agreed. “You had to suggest a hotel so you don’t look like you’re throwing yourself at him,” Mac raised her voice, talking over Veronica’s protests, “so did it occur to you that Logan _had_ to mention his guest room so it didn’t look like he expected sex as part of the deal?”

Veronica frowned at the wall. Okay, maybe she’d missed a nuance or two in her obsessing. “Um.”

“Veronica, are _you_ expecting sex as part of the deal?”

“No!” Veronica protested immediately. “He’s buying me a plane ticket to visit him, because we haven’t seen each other in a long time, and as difficult as it is for me to take time away from the firm, it’s at least twice as hard for Logan to schedule leave.” She stopped, shrugging though Mac couldn’t see her. “It will be nice. And that’s it.”

Mac didn’t answer for a long moment, then asked in a much softer tone, "Are you okay with just friends?"

"Of course," Veronica answered promptly. She’d missed him in ways she hadn’t realized until he was back. So if he just wanted to be friends, then she would be fine with it. Really, truly. “We _are_ just friends.”

"Okay,” Mac agreed, though she sounded wholly unpersuaded, “but what do you call the last month of constant phone calls?"

"They're not _constant_ ," Veronica protested. The texts were maybe a little on the constant side, but they only talked, like, maybe three times a week. Hour-plus long conversations, usually, but they weren’t as _frequent_ as Mac was suggesting.

"You talk to him more than you talk to me and Wallace combined," Mac argued. "Which is fine, this isn't a complaint -- consider it a reality check."

"I am fully grounded in reality, I promise.” Veronica answered, ignoring the way that small, stubborn part of her kept suggesting that maybe, just maybe, she was misreading Logan’s signals. “I miss him and it'll be great to see him, but it's not like I'm pining for him."

Mac made a noise that sounded suspiciously like _scoffing_ , but then said. "Okay. I'm not anti-Logan or anything. We hung out occasionally at Hearst after you left -- he’s good people.” Veronica ignored the strange flare of envy at Mac’s words. “I just don't want you to get hurt."

Veronica softened. “I know, and I appreciate it. I just... it's fine. I'm excited to see Texas."

Mac sounded well and truly bewildered. "...why?"

"Because I..." Veronica trailed off, because literally the only thing she wanted to see in Texas was Logan. "Armadillos?"

& & &

Cleaning was not Logan’s forte.

He was at least passable at basics like dishes and sweeping these days, thanks to the U.S. Navy, but he let a maid service handle the heavy stuff once a week. Still, he felt so strange, so antsy about Veronica’s visit that he was actually attempting to vacuum the small area rug in the living room.

It wasn’t going well. He kept accidentally vacuuming up the edges. “Fuck.” Frustrated, Logan switched off the machine and glared down at the rug.

As soon as he heard the special tone he’d assigned to Veronica’s texts, he cheerfully abandoned the vacuum cleaner where it stood. Grabbing his phone, he flopped down on the couch. His Pavlovian response to said _Veronica-chime_ was something he’d rather not examine too closely.

_Weather check -- describe again how hot it is there?_

He grinned at her contact picture -- still the shot of her and Rosie that she’d texted a month ago -- and tried to decide how one could most accurately describe Texas heat. _Surface of the sun outside. Arctic circle in most buildings - excessive use of A/C here._

_That seems like an inefficient use of our fossil fuels._

Logan snickered. _Remind me NOT to explain how much jet fuel my kickass plane goes through in an hour._

_At least there’s a patriotic reason for that._

He grinned vapidly at her message. Goddamn, he’d missed her. _Trust me -- there’s a practical reason for the A/C, unless you want to see lots of people walking around half-naked._

_So you’re saying I should bring short shorts and tank tops, and maybe little sundresses, huh?_

Logan groaned at the mental image, and ran a hand through his hair. How was he supposed to answer that? Probably _GOD, YES, PLEASE_ would convey a degree of lust and desperation that Veronica would find… off-putting.

After a few partially typed and deleted responses, Logan texted back, _Those choices would be much appreciated._

The phone rang and he panicked for a moment, but it wasn’t Veronica’s ringtone, it was Dick’s. Logan blinked and shook his head a bit. “Dick.”

“Logan!” his friend greeted.

He paused, but Dick didn’t continue, and Logan wondered how many special brownies Dick had consumed so far today. “You rang?” Logan prompted, amused.

“Oh! Yeah. Listen. I’m hitting Vegas this weekend, and you need to come meet me since you lamed out on surfing in Costa Rica.”

Crap. Logan tried to figure out the best way to get out of this conversation gracefully. Because there was basically nothing in the world that could tempt him out of godforsaken _Texas_ this weekend, since Veronica Mars would be arriving in the state midday Friday. But he hadn’t exactly kept Dick up to date on his renewed friendship with Veronica. In fact, he hadn’t told Dick a goddamn thing. 

“I can’t, actually,” Logan answered after a rather awkward pause. “Sounds fun, though.”

“You got some kind of plane training?” Dick asked.

Logan frowned, picking idly at the seam of his jeans where it was starting to fray. “Uh, no. I just can’t this weekend.” Because Veronica Mars was coming to Texas. The thought still made his hands shake a little bit.

Dick sounded understanding when he asked, “Plans with your guys?”

Dick hadn’t made it to Texas, since the surfing here was for shit. And since he hadn’t met Logan’s fellow pilots, he didn’t really retain names or details, instead referring to any and all of Logan’s Navy friends as “your guys.” Occasionally, Logan wondered just how many brain cells Dick had obliterated to date with his particular choice of antidepressants. 

He considered lying -- agreeing that he and “his guys” had important Navy-related things to do. But there was really no _reason_ to lie. Sure, Dick and Veronica had never really gotten along, but she lived in New York, and -- more importantly -- she and Logan were just friends. There was very little possibility Dick would ever be in the same room as Veronica again. 

So Logan sighed and said, “Veronica is coming out for a visit.”

Silence.

“Dick?”

“Veronica,” Dick repeated dumbly. 

“Yes.”

“Veronica _Mars_?” And now Dick was loud. Nearly shouting. “ _Please_ tell me you’re kidding, dude, because that girl fucked you up.”

Logan felt himself getting defensive -- for Veronica more than himself -- and took a calming breath before answering. “One, I was plenty fucked up before I even _met_ Veronica, never mind fell in love with her. And, two,” he continued, talking over Dick’s exaggerated hurling noises, “that was _eight years_ ago. We’re all grown up.”

“Hell if we are,” Dick snorted.

“ _Most_ of us are grown ups. Veronica and I have been talking for a while. We’re friends. She’s coming to visit.”

“To visit _your dick_ ,” Dick said. 

“I’m hanging up,” Logan warned.

“WAIT, wait, wait,” Dick protested. “Fine. No, I think it’s great, you and Veronica being friends,” he added, all false enthusiasm, not even trying to sell the lie. “She’s always been so charming and not at all poisonous.”

“Dick, just -- don’t worry about it,” he said finally. Because he already knew not to expect anything from Veronica now, so there was no way she could stomp on his heart and leave him wanting to drown himself in pizza and beer for a month this time. Logan swallowed hard and tried to focus on Dick. “And next time you want to hit Vegas, give me more than a couple days’ notice.”

& & &

 _So_ , Veronica wondered, assessing the majority of her clothes as they lay strewn across her bed, _what do you wear to go visit your smart, funny, hot ex-boyfriend who wants to be your cool new friend -- and on whom you have a deep, sad, one-sided crush?_

She surveyed her wardrobe with an air of resignation, as it was a strange mix of drab, boring law firm appropriate, and rather outdated, college-era t-shirts and short skirts. And hoodies. Which she probably wouldn’t need in Texas in July. Which, come to think of it, probably ruled out a significant portion of her wardrobe. 

Why didn’t she have more cute sundresses? Or cute tank tops and shorts? Or cute _anything_ , really?

Dressing for work at an uptight Manhattan law firm five days out of every seven tends to leave your wardrobe with a dearth of _cute_. Because _cute_ was the opposite of what a petite blonde lawyer needed to leave as a first impression.

Veronica grabbed the greys and navys and beiges and blacks and put them back in the closet. It was sad how little clothing remained on the bed. And basically _none_ of it was what she wanted to wear to see Logan again. After all, what combination of colors and styles would best get across: _I look good and I am totally cool and not at all into you -- unless you happen to be into me, too, in which case, let’s get this thing started_? 

“Shit!” 

Rosie blinked awake, tilting her head to express her curiosity.

“Sorry, sweet girl,” Veronica apologized, taking three steps over to the brindle pit mix curled up on a cushy dog bed in the corner. Rosie grinned that cute pit bull grin up at her, and Veronica scratched her behind her cropped ears. “What do you think I should wear to Texas?”

She wanted to text Mac, but knew this was the _exact_ kind of behavior that would prove Mac’s annoying point about Veronica’s expectations.

And she _didn’t_ expect anything from this weekend, other than the chance to see Logan Echolls, grown-ass man, fighter pilot, and -- possibly the most unbelievable of all of it -- resident of south Texas. Just no chance she would head back to New York without a bunch of funny stories, because -- Logan. In TEXAS.

Her phone rang, and she grinned at her dad’s picture. “Hiya, Pop,” she answered. “Calling to say hi to your favorite granddoggy?”

He laughed. “No, but give her a couple treats from me, would you?”

“Of course.” Veronica shoved some of her terrible clothes aside and flopped onto her back on the bed. “How’s life treating you, dad?”

“Not bad, dear daughter. Not bad.” He paused, and Veronica stifled a groan, suddenly sure she knew what was coming next. “Wallace was in town last week visiting his mom.”

“Is this a dig about how I don’t visit enough?” she asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion even though he couldn’t see her.

He laughed. “No. But Wallace and I caught a Padres game while he was in town, and he mentioned--”

“I’m going to _kill_ Wallace,” she interrupted. “Logan and I are friends, Dad. He’s a grown man. He’s in the _Navy_. He’s not the guy you remember, okay?” She stopped, surprised by the vehemence in her tone.

It took her father a moment to respond. “Veronica, I was just going to say I like it when you share things about your life with me,” he said, in that terrible hurt-father voice that scratched along her skin. “I have no problems with Logan. Sure, in high school, he had his... _issues_ , but getting away from his father did wonders for Logan’s maturity.”

Veronica blinked. “Oh,” she answered stupidly. “Okay.”

“So the two of you have…” he paused, stumbling over his words, “reconnected?”

“No, not like-- We’re friends, Dad,” she said. “I mean, he lives in Texas now,” she added, as if that were a reason why they were _just_ friends, when the only reason that mattered was that was all Logan wanted. She flung her free arm over her face, hiding in the crook of her elbow for reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely. It’s not like anyone was in her apartment to catch the way she flushed. Except for Rosie, who probably didn’t much care.

“He’s stationed along the Gulf somewhere?” he asked.

“Yes. Corpus Christi.” Veronica hesitated, then forced a lighter tone and added, “I’m going to visit, actually. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hit the Texas Surf Museum.”

To his credit, her father simply made a weird, slightly strangled sound, then asked, “There’s a Texas Surf Museum?”

“Indeed.” Veronica wanted badly for this conversation to be over. “In fact, I need to finish packing.”

“You’re going this weekend,” her father surmised. And if he hadn’t been assuming anything about the nature of Veronica and Logan’s rekindled friendship before, he certainly was now. 

Veronica sighed, because why did every single person assume Logan wanted her when he clearly didn’t? It got a little exhausting, defending your own lack of sex appeal. “Please, Dad? Just… please?”

“I’ll let you get back to your packing. Have a-- Tell Logan I said hello.”

“I will,” she promised. “I’ll let you know I made it safely.”

When she hung up, she turned her head and stared at the pile of clothes on her bed, hoping that the new angle would bring inspiration.

It didn’t.

& & &

Logan stood in the snack aisle of Sprouts, an ever-so-modestly upscale grocery store, staring dolefully at his options. 

He wanted to cook for Veronica. He wanted to impress her, which was stupid. But he wasn’t the angry, resentful, needy teenager she remembered, and he wanted everything this weekend to drive that home.

He refused to think about _why_ it was so important to him. He just knew that it was.

So he would cook the shit out of some food, because the way to Veronica’s heart was through her stomach. Not that he was _expecting_ her heart, just that -- “Goddammit,” he cursed, grabbing some corn chips and heading for the salsa.

But he needed more than snacks if he wanted to give her a real taste of Texas. Obviously, he’d need to make her a steak dinner. Or maybe he should plan something less… ambitious, and then _take_ her out for a steak dinner? Except that might seem a little too much like a date, which would be awkward if she wanted nothing to do with him. Romantically speaking.

Frustrated, Logan dug out his phone. _So if I plan to cook for you - any strange peanut allergies or aversions I should know about?_

_Well, obviously skip the shellfish. But other than that, I’ll eat anything._

Logan smirked at his phone, then reminded himself he wasn’t twelve years old, then realized she remembered his allergy and felt himself flush. _Plus ca change, eh, Mars?_

He nearly walked into a fellow patron since he was focused so intently on his phone. “Sorry,” he muttered. He moved out of the way and found himself facing a wall of soda products. Smirking, he snapped a picture of a six-pack of Sunkist and texted it to her, captioned, _Still tasting the sun?_

She answered quickly, _Hell, yes - that is sunshine in a can, mister._

_I’ll make you a deal -- I’ll have these for you, but also actual oranges._

_Well, I wouldn’t want to catch scurvy, so sure!_

He laughed aloud, right there in the grocery store. _I’m pretty sure you don’t_ catch _scurvy._

_Whatever. It has something to do with ships, so you’d probably get it before me._

Logan reached the meat section and tucked his phone into his pocket to mull his options. After a stupidly long time, he grabbed some ground beef, two steaks, a few chicken breasts, and a pound of bacon. Just so he would be able to make her anything she wanted.

Convinced that he could keep Veronica satisfied, gastronomically speaking, Logan turned to head to the checkout, then paused at the end of the health and beauty aisle. Should he get her stuff for the guest bathroom? He probably should -- shampoo, conditioner, body gel. That sort of thing. 

But was the _grocery store_ really the right place for high end bath stuff? Shouldn’t he go to one of those girly bath places in the mall? 

Then he glanced to this left and saw condoms.

Shit.

Logan stopped short and stared at the display, trying to remember how many condoms he had at the house. _If_ he had condoms at the house.

Not that it mattered, because he and Veronica were _friends_ and that was it. But just on general principle, he was fan of being prepared. The Navy taught him that. Not about being prepared with condoms, _specifically_ , but just that preparation was the key to success. In life.

And sex _was_ a pretty enjoyable part of life.

So he should probably buy condoms. Just as part of being a healthy, single adult male who may or may not have a couple open boxes lying around the house. Wholly unrelated to the upcoming visit by a woman to whom he was undeniably attracted, of course. 

Logan stepped closer, still not sure whether it was creepy or sensible to buy condoms while thinking of Veronica. And when was the last time he’d stood in front of a display of condoms and waffled like this? 

“This is stupid,” he muttered, belatedly noticing the elderly woman edging past him with her cart. He nodded in her direction, and turned back, grabbing the largest box and tossing it in his basket. 

& & &

Veronica rifled through the racks of the overpriced, vaguely hipster-ish boutique three blocks from her apartment. She only had about 20 minutes before the place closed for the night, but she needed _something_ to bring with her to Texas that didn’t make her look like some stodgy, sun-starved lawyer. Which, some days, she thought she probably was.

Slightly panicked, she grabbed two pairs of shorts, a couple printed tank tops, and a cranberry-and-white sundress before darting into the fitting room. Which was essentially a closet with a heavy curtain instead of a door. Veronica slipped off her shoes and placed them directly under the curtain as a warning -- _occupied_.

The shorts were… fine, even though they highlighted how pale her legs were. They were also aggressively short, but if Logan was serious about the heat, then they’d be perfect. She liked two of the tank tops, but passed on the one with tiny, all-over skull and crossbones, because she was pretty sure she had the exact shirt in high school and it sure as hell didn’t cost $45.

She pulled the sundress on and stared at herself in the mirror. The simple bodice started out white, and an ombre effect along the length of the sundress darkened through pink at her waist to a deep cranberry at the bottom of the A-line skirt. The overall effect was flattering, and the colors were bright and summery and eye-catching. Which was probably what was throwing her off, considering the swaths of grey she draped herself in these days.

Despite this being _exactly_ what Mac would tease her for, Veronica pulled out her phone, snapped a picture, and texted it to Mac. _Not sure about this. Too Southern Living, or what?_

_Dude. If you don’t buy that, I’ll fly to NY, kill you, and then buy it for myself._

Veronica laughed. _Message received._

_And you damn well better bring that to Texas. ;)_

_Yes, ma’am._ Veronica pulled off the dress and only then checked the price tag. “God damn, this is an expensive trip.” But she bought the dress, the shorts, and the tank tops -- minus the skulls.

When she got back to her place, she packed seven outfits for three days, and then selected several matching lingerie sets, solely for the confidence boost. No other reason. Dammit.

She finished packing, laid out her favorite turquoise blouse and jeans for the morning, took Rosie for her evening walk, and told herself to go to bed.

Where she lay, eyes wide open, and tried to envision what it would be like to walk off of a plane and see Logan again. The guy she’d loved so much in high school and college. The guy she’d walked away from without a look back. The guy who’d entertained her for the past month with stories and conversations. The guy who’d flirted with her just enough to reignite all these annoying _feelings_ within her. 

But Logan was an incorrigible flirt, always had been. Veronica told herself her reaction to him was mostly nostalgia, mostly _what if_ s, even though they’d gotten to know each other as they were now, and it was _that_ Logan that she--

Her phone chimed, and she rolled toward the nightstand to grab it.

_Did you pack?_

Of course Logan would text her. She tugged up the sheet and brought her phone into bed with her. _Three gallons of sunscreen and a bikini -- surface of the sun hot, right?_

It was probably too much, too openly flirty, but it was too late to take it back now.

 _Are you trying to kill me?_ he texted back. Followed quickly by, _I mean, with the implication that you might require us to spend time_ outside _in July in Texas._

Veronica grinned at her phone. Sure that was what he meant.

& & &

Logan stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom, hands on his hips, and evaluated. It looked pretty good, he thought. He'd basically recreated a display room from a _Restoration Hardware_ catalog, figuring that was probably more welcoming for all the _no guests ever_ who stayed with him than the minimalist feel he preferred. 

His tastes ran surprisingly Spartan these days -- and while he spared no expense to ensure his own king-sized bed was as comfortable as possible, his bedroom wasn't what one would necessarily describe as homey. The comforter and sheets were hotel-quality, but a cool slate grey; the headboard and small matching side tables an austere dark wood. He’d replaced the cheap vinyl blinds with wood, and had the walls painted a cool neutral tone. 

Something about it being the total opposite of the onslaught of beiges, browns, and tans of the damaging home he’d grown up in made his bedroom a sleek, calming refuge for Logan. And since it had been a while since anyone had shared it with him, he supposed all that mattered was what _he_ liked.

But he'd made an effort with the guest bedroom. It was a bit more welcoming, a little warmer, though he'd still gravitated toward the cool blues and greens when he selected the bedding. He even had art on the wall -- a strange, charming little watercolor he’d seen in a cafe one day, of a cluster of inquisitive ostriches staring right back at the viewer. 

He hoped Veronica would feel comfortable in there.

He wished she would stay in _his_ bed, but he'd tried very hard to make his peace with their relationship as is, no expectations. He was almost successful.

After all, when she’d agreed with his impulsive suggestion that she come visit, she’d immediately asked for hotel recommendations. It had been... _incredibly_ awkward, and he hadn’t quite been able to come right out and say, “No sex will be had, so let’s figure out separate sleeping arrangements that don’t needlessly involve hotels.” 

Because he was 98% sure he was right about all the no-sex that would be had, but -- what if he was wrong and managed to cock-block _himself_ with some poorly phrased attempt at chivalry?

Instead, he’d said, “Please -- I have a perfectly good guestroom. You’re staying with me.”

He’d expected her to give him a flawless tongue-lashing about his imperious ways, but to his surprise, she’d agreed to stay with him. She’d sounded strangely reluctant, but he would take her acquiescence in any form. Because she was coming to Texas and staying with him, and she would be there _today_.

Her flight wasn't due for another two hours, and the airport wasn't far. Still, he knew he would be there stupidly early, as if he could make her plane fly faster by force of will. He'd almost suggested he could just pick her up in Houston and they could road trip back to Corpus Christi, but decided not to be a lunatic. 

After eight years, he could wait an incremental hour to see her.

He was almost sure that was true.

Heading back into his own bedroom, Logan glanced into the large mirror and stopped, evaluating yet again what he was wearing. Brown shoes, dark blue jeans, brown belt, plain navy blue t-shirt. He felt like an asshole wearing a t-shirt, like it was too casual, but it was also summer in fucking Texas, and he figured slightly underdressed was a better look than sweaty, disgusting mess.

Also, he’d worked pretty hard for these arms. Not that he expected Veronica to notice or care, but the tiny, lovesick part of him wanted to look his absolute best. _Just in case._

Logan told himself to stop being ridiculous, and turned resolutely away from the mirror. He made himself feed his fish, carefully twisting the bottle of fish food closed and fastidiously placing it on its shelf. And then there was nothing else to kill time, no other _things_ to do to occupy his mind, and his stomach dropped. 

Veronica Mars was on a plane on her way here. To see him.

And just like that, he grabbed his keys, his phone, the silly stuffed longhorn he’d picked up for her, and he was out the door. His hands were shaking when he unlocked the car, and he made himself take an unsteady breath. 

Jesus, he had it bad.

Logan told himself to calm the fuck down, to be a grown up. Veronica was his friend, and she was coming to visit, and having her particular blend of wit and intellect and unwavering support would be enough.

He was almost sure that was true.

& & &

The last thing Veronica wanted to do was make Rosie feel insecure, or feel like she was being given up by boarding her for three days. Because she’d only been with Veronica for a year, and she’d hadn’t spent a single night of that year outside of Veronica’s tiny apartment. 

But before that, Rosie had spent nearly seven months at an animal shelter, and before _that_ , she’d been cared for (if such a phrase would even apply) by someone who’d cropped her ears with scissors, and did who knows what else to her. Every time Veronica thought about it, she burned with rage at that jackass, and was amazed by Rosie’s resiliency. 

But three days with Logan in Texas meant three days at the boarder for Rosie (and three days of guilt for Veronica), so she’d taken Rosie for an extra long walk, and given her a couple treats, and if she’d gotten a little choked up when Rosie bounced away from her to play with the Great Dane and the Boston Terrier in the play area, well, Veronica had simply chalked it up to nerves. 

About leaving Rosie and about seeing Logan. 

Because now the only thing standing between her and Logan Echolls was the TSA, a long flight to Houston, and then a quick hop to Corpus Christi. Or, as she’d come to think of it -- nearly five hours of interminable torture. 

Or perhaps it just _felt_ obscenely long, since she wanted to just _be there_ already. 

She had three books on her Kindle she’d been meaning to read (for a really long time -- stupid 60 hours work weeks), but she couldn’t get past the first page of any of them. Her mind was racing, spinning with anxiety and impossible possibilities.

She fidgeted. She shifted in her seat (economy, which was the only way she’d agreed to let Logan pay for her ticket). She flipped mindlessly through the in-flight magazine, and then the safety card, until she realized the woman sitting in the seat beside her was a nervous flyer. “Sorry,” she murmured, and turned her attention to the movie. It was a terribly unfunny comedy.

Eventually, Veronica closed her eyes and willed herself to be still, to be patient. She was a master at this -- at mind over matter. She’d gotten through law school on willpower alone. Well, maybe not _just_ willpower, but a lot of it, anyway. 

She got through 60-hour work weeks on willpower. She could do whatever she set her damn mind to. 

Even if _whatever_ was sitting impatiently on a plane, trying to persuade herself _not_ to imagine romantic (or vaguely pornographic) reunions with Logan.

They would hang out and sightsee, and then she would have four hours on her way back to New York to obsess over their strange, new, and oddly comfortable relationship. 

She wouldn’t push. She was an adult, and she would accept things just as they were.

& & &

Logan arrived at the airport preposterously early, and then circled the short-term lot several times looking for a good spot. Not that he actually cared how close he could get to the terminal, but her plane didn’t land for at least another thirty minutes. 

Eventually, he parked and made his way inside, wiping his palms on his jeans, then rethinking, once more, his choice to _wear_ jeans. Too casual?

Goddammit, when did he become a girl?

Inside, he circled the small baggage claim area in long, slow loops, checking each ARRIVALS board as he passed. It was distressingly boring, and there was nothing in the terminal to distract him from the fact that Veronica Mars would be there soon. Logan fiddled with the stuffed animal he’d brought for her, tossing it from hand to hand until he realized he’d caught the attention of a toddler, who was starting to fuss.

“Sorry, kid,” he murmured, turning away and holding the stuffed longhorn against his thigh.

He still had 10 minutes to fill, but his phone chirped her text tone and he stopped short, fishing it out of his pocket.

_On the ground. It’s ridiculously flat here. See you in a couple minutes._

Reflexively, Logan’s head jerked up and he scanned the entire area. No passengers yet. He strode to the security exit and stopped, peering through the glass doors. 

Still nothing. He realized he was breathing kind of funny and fought the urge to smack himself on the forehead. Why was he so keyed up? They’d been talking for a month, and they were in a good place -- teasing each other and getting along, and just because _Veronica Mars_ would be walking through that door--

And then the first trickle of passengers arrived, triggering the glass doors to open. 

All of Logan’s nervous energy flipped into paralysis, and he stood rooted to the floor, straining to see her. The few other people waiting to greet passengers drifted closer to him, occasionally smiling and waving at someone in the stream of new arrivals. Veronica was so damn short, she might be behind half of these people -- there.

She was right there. She was _here_.

God. Veronica Mars. 

She looked -- she looked like _herself_ , but a little different, too. In the best way -- her defensive shields seem to have been replaced in the intervening years with a steady confidence. He knew from their conversations that her rapier wit was as sharp as ever, but that it was also softer, somehow. Fireworks instead of artillery.

Veronica’s expression was tight as she scanned the small crowd for him. She wore jeans and some kind of drapey, turquoise shirt, a black messenger bag tossed over one shoulder. She looked -- _amazing_. Beautiful (of course), her blonde hair falling in easy waves past her shoulder, her body a bit curvier. He wanted suddenly and desperately to document all the ways she’d changed with his hands. And his mouth.

Jesus. Logan ran a hand through his hair, trying his damnedest to rein in all of this inappropriate lust. Just friends. They were friends. She didn’t need him panting after her like a schoolboy.

Like he had for _years_ a decade ago.

She was twenty yards away, now, and he took a step toward her. The movement caught her attention. When she spotted him, the edge of her mouth twitched up, and after a moment, she was smiling. He realized that he was grinning right back at her. So much for his plans for a calm, cool, collected greeting -- he couldn't even help it, he was just bursting, suddenly, with nervous happiness.

Then Veronica was ten feet away. Eight years of nothing, and now suddenly she was _right here_. He wanted to wrap her in the biggest bear hug, but managed to restrain himself.

He took another step toward her and she slowed, her smile changing. 

Logan faltered -- could she read all of his thoughts the way she could years ago? Was she figuring out that he had some maybe not-so-well hidden and inappropriate desires involving her, a couple towels to protect the sheets, and a tub of her favorite ice cream?

Veronica’s gaze stayed locked on him, her eyes searching his face for... _something_.

He felt his cheeks flush, and hoped like hell she wasn’t deciding whether to turn around and book the first flight out. "Hey," he said, and he hated the questioning tone that he couldn’t quite suppress.

And then Veronica’s smile -- shifted, and he _remembered_ that look. He knew exactly what it meant, and he felt it all the way to his bones, but-- No, he had to be wrong about that. She didn’t--

“Hey,” she answered, and then she was moving, closing the last couple feet between them. He was half-expecting two strong hands in the center of his chest to push him away, but he reached for her anyway, logic and common sense be damned.

She beat him to the punch, her palms landing warm on his cheeks to pull his face down to hers. And then she was kissing him.

 _Thank fucking God_ , he thought, yanking her body up against his, and kissing her with all of the disbelief and lust and relief he was feeling.

& & &

 _Oh, my God_ , Veronica thought, pressing up onto her tiptoes to get closer to him as they kissed. _Logan_.

He was bigger than in college, broader and clearly more muscular. His back was rock hard under her hands, and the feel of his chest against hers was different, too. 

Veronica repressed a shudder, because there were things about kissing him that were very different, but his mouth on hers -- it was achingly, hauntingly familiar. It was electric, the way it had been since that impulsive, overwhelming day at the Camelot Motel (of all places). And it got past all of her we’re-just-friends-and-I’m-totally-fine-with-it pretensions, and made her feel like she was 19 again. Giddy and happy and _kissing Logan_.

Her hands tightened, grasping handfuls of his shirt, and Logan groaned, his palm sliding heavy and dangerous down her spine, pressing their bodies closer. 

Belatedly, she remembered they were in an airport, among hundreds of strangers, and no matter how much she wanted to toss him down right here next to baggage claim and have her way with him, they should probably cool it.

Veronica let her hand curl around the back of his neck, then eased back. Logan followed, leaning down to give her another, much more chaste kiss, before straightening back up. His hand was heavy against her lower back, anchoring her to him, so she leaned her forehead into his chest and tried to calm her breathing.

She was gratified to hear how quickly his heart was pounding. Smiling, she stepped back, his hands sliding to her hips. Her fingers curled around his biceps and she grinned up at him, affecting a nonchalant tone. "Nice to see you, Logan."

He blinked at her, then that slow, smug grin broke out, and he said, “Welcome to Texas.” Logan held out -- a small stuffed... devil?

Veronica studied it -- a small brown animal-type thing with little ears and giant horns, wearing a t-shirt that proclaimed _EVERYTHING’S BIGGER IN TEXAS_. She started to laugh, accepting the gift. “What--?” she stopped, shook her head.

“It’s a longhorn,” he explained. He leaned closer, lowered his voice to a stage whisper, and crooked his thumb at the stuffed animal’s tiny t-shirt. “And it’s true.” He quirked his eyebrows, and it was so... _Logan_ that her breath caught.

It was strange standing here, looking up at those brown eyes she hadn’t seen in so long, at that face -- thinner, now, and chiseled, but still _him_. She felt strange and off-kilter and just so -- happy.

She was a complete and total goner.

Stepping back, Veronica rolled her eyes and gave him what would have been a playful shove, but new, grown-up, muscular Logan stood resolutely still. And smirked at her some more. 

“Geez,” she said, “it’s definitely true of your _muscles_.” Logan promptly shifted, flexing his _ridiculous_ bicep while pretending to check his bare wrist for the time. She laughed. “Quit it, Iceman.”

“Oh, hell, no,” he said, reaching for her hand. “No _Top Gun_ jokes. You’ve made more than your fair share of them already.”

Veronica’s stomach flipped a little at his easy intimacy -- he’d always been so much more open, so much more obvious -- but she tangled her fingers with his and followed him toward the baggage carousels. “If you think I’m not going to make _Top Gun_ jokes while you’re all,” she waved her free hand at his torso, “built and stuff, you are crazy.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, brash, egotistical Logan Echolls actually flushed a bit at her words. He ducked his head and yanked her closer as he stopped beside the baggage carousel. “But you’re _here_ now,” he said, his voice low and warm and suffused with amusement. “So if you make terrible jokes, I can at least punish you appropriately.”

Veronica’s pulse jumped again, and she realized she was leaning into him. Could it really be this easy to fall back into... _something_ with Logan? After all this time? 

Logan glanced down at her, caught her gaze, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away. He was studying her, trying to crack her secrets open and learn everything about her -- she remembered shying away from this as a teenager, being overwhelmed by him. She remembered how all-consuming he could be. 

But right now, staring up at him in the middle of an airport in godforsaken Corpus Christi, of all places, she felt… exhilarated. 

“Hey, Veronica,” he said, nudging her a bit with his elbow, the hint of a grin on his lips.

“Yeah,” she managed.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” he admitted, sounding scared but maybe a little exhilarated himself.

And then she found herself grinning right back at him. “Me, too.”

& & &

END


End file.
